


"Goodnight, Mr. Holmes" (or Ginger CAN Distract the Man)

by BeautifullyObsessed



Series: Crimes of the Heart [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: "courtship" is another word for that, F/M, Mind Palace, Romance, a simple phrase or two can speak volumes, advice from an uninvited friend, an Unexpected Kiss surprises & delights, brevity can be the soul of wit, courtship in the age of electronic communication, favorite book of pirate adventures, flirtation via text, fond memories, her nudge may have had the desired effect, on balance: should he proceed?, pleasant lessons in the Art of Romance, the old-fashioned kind of romance, the persistent scent of ginger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:41:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifullyObsessed/pseuds/BeautifullyObsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All would have been fine, except her hair had smelled like ginger.  That was as pleasant as the kiss she surprised him with.  Not that he normally noticed or cared about such things.  Sherlock is flummoxed and unable to sleep, over something trivial to his august mind.  Best not to think about it at all, though even a visit to his Mind Palace brings the question back around.  Of course John has the answer, even when Sherlock has clearly chosen NOT to ask him.  Even in the Mind Palace,  John's human wisdom is irrefutable.</p><p>Sherlock comes to a decision.  When he needs to leave London suddenly, the morning after her unexpected kiss, he promises to stay in touch.  Courtship in the age of instant electronic communication needn't be too complicated.  Texts can be eloquent even if brief, and absence can serve to make the heart grow fonder. (Chapter Two also published as a stand alone ficlet, "Can You Read Between the Lines?"; Chapter 3 also published as stand alone, "Back in London, for the Lady Waits")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much credit and gratitude to all the Artists collaborating to make the amazing BBC Sherlock. I don't own these characters, but lately it seems they fully own me. Though there could be worse ways to go through life, right? Tessa DeMauro is mine however; an American actress making her living on the London stage. Not a "star" by any means, just lucky enough to be of the breed of actors who can earn their daily bread doing what they love best. In my own little happy world, she's also found herself lucky enough to spend some time in the company of the marvelous Sherlock Holmes. Please treat with her patiently, Kind Reader; she only intends the best of things.
> 
> This is part of a series, currently told out order--a bit like my distracted mind, I suppose.

The door to her flat unlocked, Tessa turned back to face Sherlock and say goodnight, a mildly perplexed expression upon her face.

"So we’ve been out several times now, and I’ve asked you in for a drink several times.  And you’ve always declined, so I’m kind of confused." Tessa paused, scanning his face for any sign she was going too far, " Because it feels to me like you’re interested in me, and I think it’s pretty clear I’m interested in you, and I’ve been out of the dating game for a couple of years now, so……well"  again she paused, hoping she wasn’t now pushing him too much, "……what sort of game are we playing here, because I’d just like to know the rules."

He smiled and raised his brow, taking a measured moment before he spoke, “It’s not a game, I believe it’s what used to be called a courtship.”  Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly, which looked to Tessa as though he was carefully considering his answer.  ”And this is fairly new territory for me as well, so if you could just see your way clear to……be patient……I think we can find the answers out together.”

She was caught by such surprise, that she looked down sheepishly, shaking her head. “Courtship” the old-fashioned expression almost catching in her throat,  ”With a single word you make my knees go all weak.”

Sherlock lifted up her chin with a gentle touch. “And then you blush so prettily, without a bit of guile about it, that mine do as well.”

Tessa smiled and bit her lip, thinking of how to respond. ”Well then,” she finally replied, “if it’s a courtship, then you should know” as she rose on her toes a bit, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on the lapel of his jacket, at last kissing his lips softly, pulling away to see his response—surprise from a man who is rarely surprised—and moved in again to kiss him more insistently, lingering in the end on his lower lip, at the last tugging away gently “ _that_  is courtship  _American-style_.” The space between them was narrow and the only thing to be heard was their breath. He seemed slightly dazed, but quickly shook it off, breaking into a slow smile.

But Tessa was wise to this much anyway, more familiar territory; what was the expression for this circumstance? Ah, yes—always leave them wanting more.  She sighed and tried to keep the tremor from her voice, choosing a formal response to fit the old fashioned notion he’d presented, “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”; she turned through the open door before he could respond, and closed it, with not  _too_  much force.

Knees remaining weak, and heart thundering in her chest, she leaned back against the closed door and took several calming breaths.  After a time, she realized, sleep would not come easy tonight.

****************************************************************************************************************************

Her hair had smelled like ginger tonight.  That  _had_ to be what was distracting him so much as he tried to ease down into sleep.  Sherlock had noticed over their several meetings—not “dates”, these were never meant to be “dates”; they were, he reminded himself often enough, simply an experiment he was conducting to demystify the feminine psyche (in fact, it had occurred  to him such an analysis might make an interesting piece for his website once he and Tessa were no longer actively acquainted)—that she used a variety of shampoos and conditioners, different fragrances that seemed to convey varying images or moods.  He realized he should probably ask her sometime soon just why a woman would do that. It certainly wan’t a necessity, although he did find each time they met he looked forward to discovering which she had indulged in that day.

It turned out the ginger was his favorite.  He knew this was tied in with childhood memories and his tendency towards a sweet tooth.  If his mind wasn’t too focused on a current task, he found the scent could send him fondly back to stealing into the kitchen as a boy, to nick some fresh baked ginger bread or cookies from the rack where his mother had set them to cool. His mother usually looked the other way, indulging her youngest even when it might very well spoil his appetite for supper.  He smiled at that, and turned onto his side, adjusting his pillow a bit in hopes a new position might favor the winding down he needed to fall asleep.

It wasn’t as though he went out of his way to smell Tessa’s hair.  It just happened that this evening she surprised him as they were saying goodnight, venturing at last to kiss him. Of course he’d known for some time she was physically attracted to him; Tessa might act cool in that arena so as not to seem eager, but he could easily read her subconscious signals.  It actually surprised him she had waited even this long, Perhaps it was a drawback to study one so unpredictable after all; but then he certainly didn’t want to throw out the all that research after the time he’d already invested.  Tessa it would remain, then—for the time being, anyway.

And really, he supposed, his comment about “courtship” had encouraged her.  He didn’t realize he was going to say it, and then he had; one of those fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants things.  It seemed appropriate at the time, so he couldn’t very well regret it.  Water under the bridge. He just hoped Tessa wouldn’t place too much stock in it; it was no actual promise of future involvement, though at the moment he said it, it had felt…..well…..true enough. And.....surprisingly right.

Sherlock turned again, onto his back this time.  Ginger.  As she leaned in to kiss him, that scent was the first thing to invade his senses.  That  _had_ to be the bit that had dazed him slightly.  The kisses—two distinct kisses—were pleasant enough, warm and soft and moist; and she’d lingered in the end on his lower lip, as though she hadn’t really wanted to break contact. Sherlock had kissed and been kissed before, so it wasn’t exactly foreign to him—although the girls he’d kissed before lacked Tessa’s maturity and confidence.  Yes, he could tell she knew what she was doing; he imagined she had kissed many men, privately as well as in performance. One kiss more or less probably wasn’t all that important in her romantic history. So it simply  _had_  to have been the scent of ginger that had thrown him for a loop. And he knew—or at least he believed- he had recovered his bearings without missing a beat.  

Thinking the question resolved, Sherlock turned again onto his side.  He glanced at the clock on the nightstand, and discovered he’d been tossing and turning for nearly an hour.   _That_ would not do, no not at all.  The distraction of her ginger-scented hair, the way Tessa’s lips had tasted, the coquettish look in her eyes as she bid him goodnight……these were things that  _shouldn’t_ be interfering with his sleep.  And yet here he was, fully awake and unable to dismiss them from his mind.  It was utterly ridiculous; and truly something he’d expect of John (John the Romantic, who if he knew of Sherlock’s current plight, would be laughing heartily).    

Perhaps the discipline needed to visit his mind palace might do the trick, divert him from this ludicrous train of thought. But what would he look for?  No case he was working on currently was pressing enough to require that practice.  He’d have to invent a need then.  Something far from thoughts of feminine charms would most likely be his best avenue.  He lay on his back again, eyes closed, cleansing himself with slow, deep breaths.

As Sherlock’s mind turned in upon itself, his senses one by one quieted to a background lull. He decided to search for something from very long ago, something gender-neutral, something simple that had amused and delighted him.  A childhood memory then, when some of his best of times were spent in solitude with a good book or an intriguing puzzle.  The bother of schoolwork done for the day, and evening stretching out before him, to get a little lost in imagining worlds outside that of his everyday life…..  

H _e was home now, sitting cross-legged by the fire, reading one of his favorite books from childhood._ "Real Lyfe Pyrate Tales:  Adventures on the High Seas" _.  It was slightly advanced for a 7yr old, but then again he was no ordinary reader; what words he wasn’t familiar with, he could often deduce the meaning from their context. or from the accompanying  images.  Failing that, he would ask Mycroft, although lately his older brother had less and less to do with him.  (His parents spoke in hushed tones of the pangs of adolescence, and all the time Mycroft spent in his room behind a door that was perpetually locked.)  The book was wonderfully illustrated, large, full color artist renditions of the heroic, manly exploits and lurid tales of betrayal, greed and lust.  There were fantastical creatures too; not just mermaids and sea serpents, but selkies, sirens, Kraken and Leviathan, to name just a few._

_Sherlock had loved this book, and dreamed of a day when he would be old enough to take to the sea to make his own daring adventures.  Lately he’d even come up with several pirate names he hoped would suit him, “Bloody Billy Holmes” topping his list._

_Sherlock looked up when heard his mother call him to supper.  He’d been admonished more than once not to bring books to the table, so he left the treasured book sitting on the floor by the fire, rising so as to join his family in the dining room. Foolish mistake leaving it there unattended, he would later find.  He’d always believed Mycroft had taken the book, hidden it, and it became Sherlock’s unanswered quest for many years to get his brother to admit to the pilfering, let alone return it._

_Sherlock was gazing into the fire, as his mother called to him a second time.  He noticed the hearth had changed to his own in the Baker Street flat.  He was standing next to his leather chair, where another book awaited him.  A collection of Shakespeare’s plays, open to a romantic comedy—“Twelfth Night”.  He recognized it right away as a sneaking reference to the woman who’d caused him to seek the asylum of his Mind Palace in the first place.  He picked up the book, moving to shelve it in favor of something more suitable, when he heard John Watson’s voice from behind him “Are you sure you want to do that?”.  Sherlock turned to find his friend seated in his own accustomed chair, a newspaper folded neatly in his lap.  John was smiling wryly, as though he knew exactly why Sherlock was putting that particular book away.  That was odd indeed—as John was entirely unaware that Sherlock had been in contact with Tessa at all since their initial meeting on the night of Mrs. Hudson’s birthday._

_"John, I’m fairly certain I don’t even own this collection of plays.  And frankly, I have no interest in reading such things."  Sherlock left the book unceremoniously on the shelf, then sat opposite John, resting his chin upon his steepled hands as he considered John’s untimely appearance._

_John shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You know, Sherlock, its okay for you to admit you like this girl. Or that your interest in her has gone beyond scientific curiousity.”  John paused to let the thought sink in, then added  ”Stranger things have been known to happen in the universe.”_

_Sherlock sighed loudly, irritated, “I have no idea what you are referring to.”_

_John chuckled, waving his hand dismissively.  ”Oh, yes you do.”   He was wagging his head in amusement now, “C’mon Sherlock, it was bound to happen eventually.  She’s lovely, warm, clever…and she has definitely taken a liking to you.   Although only god knows why…”_

_Sherlock narrowed his eyes, slightly insulted over John’s estimation of his value.  ”What would make you think that?”_

_"That only god knows or that Tessa is interested in you?"  John seemed to be restraining himself from laughing at his friend’s expense.  He looked down, regaining his composure.  "Look, a woman doesn’t kiss a man the way Tessa kissed you unless she hopes to be kissed back. Even_ you _have to realize that much."_

 _Sherlock allowed himself to follow John’s logic for a moment, “There is no place in my life for a love affair, John.”  He felt his answer was definitive enough to end the conversation, but John saw it otherwise.  ”Then_ make _a place, Sherlock.  Give her a chance,”  he paused, watching his friend’s reaction, “Give_ yourself _a chance.”_

_Sherlock was dumbfounded.  Intellectually, he knew John had appeared in his Mind Palace because he represented emotion in this equation.  But he had not looked to find John there, or the homey answers John would offer.  This was not going at all as Sherlock had hoped; it certainly wasn’t going to get him any closer to putting the Tessa-issue aside so he could get a decent night’s rest. He ruffled his hair aggressively, hoping to stimulate an awakening of common sense.  He looked back at John, sitting placidly across from him.  John was smiling knowingly, and Sherlock felt he could hit him just to wipe that look from his face._

_John picked up a small plate from the table beside his chair; it had only seemed to appear at John’s bidding.  He leaned across to Sherlock, offering him what lay upon it.  Ginger snaps, of course.  "Go on then, ” John told his friend, “try one.  What have you got to lose?”_

_Sherlock paused, fully realizing what he was being offered.  He reached a wary hand to the plate, taking one of the cookies, bringing it to his mouth for a tentative bite.  To his surprise, it was good.  It was very good.  And not at all what he’d expected….._

Sherlock breathed in sharply and his eyes flew open.  So that’s what it was to be then, was it?  Give it a try, see how it went?  Could that really be such a bad thing?  If he was cautious, if he took his time, might it prove a beneficial experience for him?  He’d have to be careful though, as there were more than his own feelings to consider.  This girl—this young woman, he corrected himself—deserved to be treated honestly and with consideration.  Downside—that would take an effort he was unaccustomed to. Not of Herculean proportions, of course, but still requiring studied endeavor.  Advantage—an interesting new companion who might teach him more about human nature, sharpening his “people skills”.  Someone whose creative edge--needed for her craft--made her capable of surprising him from time time.  The chance that Tessa could occasionally serve to alleviate his boredom between cases might make the whole endeavor worth the while.

In the moments following his startling choice, Sherlock at last felt relaxed enough to finally fall asleep.  But there was one thing more he needed, before he could lose himself in blessed repose.  He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, typing out a text, but saving it to Drafts, to send at a more reasonable hour.  If he was to engage in this exotic new dance, he wanted to be certain to start on the right foot.

***************************************************************************************************************************

The next morning at 10am a text arrived. Never guessing it could be from Sherlock, Tessa read it over a cheese omelet and buttered toast, nearly swallowing her tea down the wrong way. _“B_ _arely slept last night for thinking of your kiss; the feel of your lips, the taste of your mouth. Wish I’d taken that drink after all. SH_ "

Though her heart raced with happy surprise, Tessa judged the best response would be to let it wait unanswered for a time. Time enough to make him wonder; time enough to frame what she _hoped_ might be a perfect answer.


	2. "Can You Read Between the Lines?"

( a courtship via text......Tessa's are in italics)

 

_ Wednesday, afternoon _

"Off to York on a new case. Damnable timing, I know, but will be in touch soon.  SH"

* * *

_ Wednesday, late evening _

_"Dare I ask—how goes the case?"_

"Intriguing, but not impossible.  Will know more tomorrow. Doing anything special? SH"

_"Out with some friends from the show.  Quiet evening.  I’d much rather be with you."_

"Don’t be silly. Besides, don’t they say absence makes the heart grow fonder? SH"

_"We’ll have to see if that is true.  Goodnight then?"_

"Yes, and sleep well. SH"

_"You too."_

* * *

_ Thursday morning _

"In a coffee shoppe, a woman nearby is wearing your perfume. Not anywhere near as charmingly as you. SH"

_"Flattery, is it?  Am I to be so easily swayed? Hmmm **…** ”_

_"Yes, I suppose in your case, I am. So please— don’t stop."_

"Not too challenging a task. Where shall I begin? SH"

_"Surprise me, I’m an easy mark."_

"Now that’s sly.  Easy you are not, but I’m learning— worth the effort. SH"

_"Oh you ARE good.  But I suppose I already knew that."_

"Yes, you did.  Another mark in you favour. SH"

_"If you were here, you’d see me blush."_

"I can picture it already.  Still as pretty as the other night. SH"

_"Clearly you have won this round, Sir. Please, let there be more?"_

"Patience, my dear.  Patience. SH"

* * *

_ Thursday, late afternoon _

_"It’s raining here, so I sat down for a while & read some of John’s blog. You play the violin! When you return, I hope you’ll play for me."_

"(Ah, the blog—wonderful.) I swear I shall, if just to make you smile. SH"

_"Here I wait then, smiling already."_

* * *

_ Friday, mid-morning _

"Silly women braying laughter on the street today.  Makes me miss the music of yours. SH"

_"Such music needs a muse.  Will you be back in London soon?"_

"A few days more, regrettably. SH"

_"Be assured— I’ll be counting the hours."_

* * *

_ Friday, late night _

"Suppose you’re leaving the theatre about this time. I couldn’t feel farther from London than I do right now. SH"

_"Really—what’s wrong?"_

"The police force here is positively medieval.  They put me two steps back for every forward step I take. It’s left me in quite a dour state. S."

_“I guessed as much.  Wish I could find a way to lighten your mood.”_

“Not possible. I’m no fit company for anyone tonight. SH"

_"Sherlock, please don’t be so hard on yourself.  Maybe get some sleep and get a new perspective on the problem in the morning?"_

"Perhaps you’re right. SH"

"Goodnight then, Tessa. SH"

_"Good luck then, Sherlock."_

* * *

_ Saturday, mid-morning _

"You were right, outlook much improved with the sunrise.  Clever girl. S"

_"Coming from you, I know that’s high praise.  Thank you.  Glad to know you’re feeling better."_

"Thank you, my dear. Till later.  S"

* * *

_ Saturday, noon _

"Realized you’ll be Viola again this afternoon.  Hope you won’t enjoy that kiss too much. S"

_"Oh? Which one would that be?"_

"I think you know the one I mean. S"

 _"Oh,_ _that_ _one……well if I do, it will only be for thinking of you.”_

* * *

_ Saturday, late night _

_"It’s a beautiful spring night in London, so I walked a fair way back to my flat. As lovely as the stars were, I still missed tucking my arm in the crook of yours.  Please come back soon."_

"You’ve made it very hard to concentrate, my dear. I’ll be thinking of you under the stars now, for the rest of the night, which will leave me no closer to solving this case. Please behave. S"

_"I don’t know if I’m capable. The moonlight’s caught my fancy."_

"Certainly you are. I have complete confidence in you. The stars will still be there when I return, and I promise we’ll walk together then. S"

_"You should know I WILL hold you to that."_

"I fully expect you to. Get some rest, Tessa dear. Goodnight. S"

_"Goodnight, Sherlock.  And sweet dreams."_

* * *

_ Sunday, afternoon _

_"The weather remains delightful here (even if I have to enjoy it alone).  Took a bag lunch to Hyde Park, there was a string quartet playing at the band shell. One of the pieces was beautifully melancholy.  For some reason, it reminded me of you"_

"Now you are just purposely trying to distract me. I’ll never make it back to London if you keep saying things like that. There’s still this job to do. S"

_(his phone stays silent)_

"Tessa?"

_"Yes?"_

"Was that too harsh?"

_"No, I had it coming.  Finish the job please, Sherlock.  I’ll do my best to not bother you."_

"You’re not a bother, my dear.  I find I’m quite irritable as this drags on.  Just know I’d much rather be in London at this very moment."

_"That helps. Until later, then?"_

"Of course. And Tessa—I will be thinking of you too."

* * *

_ Sunday into Monday, midnight _

_"The theatre was dark tonight, so I’ve had time on my hands. I found myself sighing a lot as the hours passed. Not to disturb your deducing, but I just wanted you to know— I miss you, Sherlock, much more than I expected to."_

"I know, my dear.  As I do you.  Just a while yet, I’ve almost got it. S"

* * *

_ Monday, early evening _

_“Sending this before my first entrance so you won’t feel obligated to a swift reply.  Guessing you are deep in your case now…”_

_“…silly woman that I am, I have a care for your safety.  Whatever it is, pray proceed with caution, as I miss your face and hope to see it intact upon your return.”_

* * *

_ Monday, late evening _

“Dearest Tessa, no need to fret, all is well.  More word tomorrow, I swear. S”

_“Good.  I shall sleep better, knowing that.”_

“Indeed, rest easy.  And dream sweetly.”

_“Of your return, I surely will.”_

* * *

_ Tuesday, mid-morning _

"Case successfully concluded.  Train arrives London 2:30ish.  May I call on you? S"

_"You really have to ask? Haven’t I told you I’ve been missing you?"_

"It’s just so nice to see you say it again."

_"Please stop teasing and come here straightaway."_

"As you wish."

 

 

 


	3. Back in London, for the Lady Waits

_(_   _Tuesday, mid-morning)_

"Case successfully concluded.  Train arrives London 2:30ish.  May I call on you? S"

_"You really have to ask? Haven’t I told you I’ve been missing you?"_

"It’s just so nice to see you say it again."

_"Please stop teasing and come here straightaway."_

"As you wish."

* * *

Oh, but it was a very good thing she’d eaten breakfast before his text arrived.  The butterflies she felt now would have prevented her eating anything at all, no matter how hungry she was.  Tessa was currently a bundle of nervous energy, pacing the circuit of her flat at least two dozen times, in anticipation of Sherlock’s arrival.  She’d laid out several outfits on her bed, in search of something that might best showcase her colouring and figure, repeatedly changing her mind, finally settling on something simple that he hadn’t yet seen her in.  She hoped she’d chosen wisely. 

They’d seen each other several times over the previous few weeks, but they’d only shared one kiss—the one that she had initiated the last time they were together.  It was a bold move on her part, as he appeared to be interested, yet had not made a move of his own; but the desired affect  _seemed_  to have been achieved—his text the next morning told her that much, that it  _had_ left him wanting more.  Tessa herself found that each night’s dreams pleasantly relived it for her, and more if she was very lucky. When he left London suddenly on a case, he promised to stay in touch, and was as good as his word; the texts they shared were her daily delight, though toward the end she knew she had grown more sentimental then she perhaps should have.  But she couldn’t help it; that was her nature.

Thus, musing on this and possible future kisses, she let the shower run, lost in daydreaming until the hot water finally gave out.  It would still be some time before his train reached London, and then with the travel from the station to her flat, she wasn’t exactly sure when to expect him.  She hoped the time they had would be more than brief, as her call at the theatre was set at 6:30.

She tried reading; she tried the television; she tried the relaxation exercises she employed in her craft.  Each worked, but not for long, and the butterflies continued in flight.  Then the knock came on her door.

Tessa took a deep breath, purposely rising slowly from the sofa, and walked to the door.  Her heart was racing, but she called on her best skill to let it not show in her face, and hoped her voice wouldn’t betray her either.  She opened the door and there he stood, tall, lanky and utterly breathtaking, in her view.

The human mind is a wonder, capable of so much more than most people can even comprehend.  In that moment, in the doorway, she was aware of so many things at once, and on reflection later might be able to list them, but in the now could only realize their totality.  That being:  he was even more handsome than the image she’d been carrying in her head since their last meeting. From the perfect curl of his hair which made her fingers itch to touch it ( _and which she was certain he came by naturally, probably woke up in the morning and shook those curls into place, whereas every woman she knew who’d want that same effect would have to work hours to achieve it)_ —his chiseled cheekbones _(also begging to be touched)_ —his straight as a blade posture, hands casually tucked in his trouser pockets—his shirt that was, as it seemed always to be, just slightly too tight so that the buttons sometimes strained with mild pull when he moved, hinting at what was beneath  _(she knew this wasn’t a_   _calculated effect, so appreciated it even more)_ —his riveting blue eyes  _(she’d noticed at their first dinner how the colour sometimes varied with the light)_ , exotic, compelling eyes, eyes that if focused on you could discern you to your Soul—to those tempting lips  _(especially that fuller_   _bottom one)_  she’d kissed but once  _(and she daren’t look at them now, else a blush would give her feelings away)_.  The man before her was as delightful a dream as any she’d ever had.

In that moment, Reason told her it was her blossoming feelings for him that made her see him as she did; but it was her soft femininity that held sway.  Any resolve she’d had to “play it cool” evaporated in an instant.

Sherlock must have noticed at once that she was dumbfounded, and took charge of the situation.  ”Hello, Tessa,” he said with a slight grin, his voice dark velvet, just as she remembered.  ”May I come in?”

Tessa had to stop herself from stammering in her pleasure at finally seeing him again, “Sherlock, yes, where are my manners?  Please,” she said, stepping back and motioning for him to enter.  And simple as that, he was over the threshold and in her flat for the first time, after all those polite refusals.

Tessa closed the door and took a step toward him. “Sherlock, where are your bags?” 

”Oh, I left them with John.  He was going right back to Baker Street, I thought I’d move faster without them.”  Tessa raised a brow, her interest piqued. He continued, “Well, obviously, I wanted to get here before you left for the theatre.”  She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling too much, thrilled that he’d thought of that.

Tessa asked the obvious question, already fairly certain what his answer would be, "Are you hungry?  I could fix you something.”  Sherlock shook his head no.  "Would you like something to drink?  I’ll put a kettle on.” Again, he quietly declined.  What now, she thought to herself; where do we go from here?

He was looking at her in a way he never had before, an appraising sort of way that was pleasant and surprising. “I’m not thirsty, at the moment,” he said as he casually reached out and fingered a few strands of hair that had fallen against her cheek. “Are you?”  This seemed to be an echo of the conversation they’d had before she’d kissed him; she gave a sly smile and tilt of her head “You are teasing me again, aren’t you?”

He dipped his head a bit, smiling in full “Perhaps.” then turned around, hands clasped behind his back and walked to the sofa. “So tell me, how was your week?”

Should she tease him back, or go on nonchalantly?  She quickly chose, “Uneventful. Great crowds at the show. Then there was this gentleman friend of mine, had to leave town suddenly,” she moved to sit beside him on the sofa, gaining confidence she’d chosen correctly, “I missed him terribly.”  she continued, with an air of mock sulkiness.  

Sherlock picked up her cue “Really? Chronic condition?” he asked, indulging her flirtatious air.  Tessa sighed dramatically, “Even so.”

He gave a quiet sigh and inclined his head toward her.  “A gentleman would tell the lady he missed her as well, don’t you think?”  A smile played about his mouth.  Tessa nodded solemnly, breathless now as she saw intent in his eyes.  He gently placed his hands upon her cheeks; hands very warm and pleasing against her skin.  Then his face was oh so close to hers and before she knew it, she’d closed her eyes and he was kissing her at last, softly to begin with, then with growing fervor.  When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as well.  ”Been waiting to do that all week.” He paused to gage her reaction, “It’s what you wanted, yes?”

"Oh yes, Sherlock.  Yes.”  Tessa realized she was probably smiling like a fool, but couldn’t help it in her surprise.  He’d just have to accept she wasn’t cool or composed and didn’t really know the right thing to say or do, but could only follow the prompting of her heart.  She looked down, suddenly very self-conscious.  She had allowed herself to fantasize about Sherlock actually—finally—kissing her.  In those brief flights from reality she had been as bold as that night she’d kissed in him the hallway; bold and then some.  But for him to respond in kind, Tessa hadn’t expected to feel so……girlishly awkward.  The heat of a blush spread across her cheeks, and she at once worried he would find it silly, even unbecoming. She coughed softly into her hand, and looked back up at him.

Sherlock was smiling as though he read her thoughts, that crooked smile she already found so dear; she wished in that moment to kiss the crinkle lines it left on his cheek.  By his demeanor he seemed quite amused—whether it was her surprised reaction or the pleasure of the kiss itself—she had no way of knowing.  She certainly could not ask without looking foolish.

For his part, Sherlock was smiling for an entirely different reason.  He was forming a theory about the power of an Unexpected Kiss.  Remembering how hers had dazed him (only slightly, he still maintained); he now thought he was seeing the same sort of reaction from Tessa.  It was a very pleasant turn of the tables, and a change of dynamic he could probably have observed in others (if he ever took the time or interest) but it was most impressive firsthand.  He found he liked having the upper hand for the moment, and seeing the usually confident Tessa somewhat abashed in this manner was quite attractive, more so because he was the cause.

Tessa was doing her utmost to overcome her surprise and get herself back on track.  "So, um…” biting her lip as she searched for something to say that wouldn’t sound nervous or contrived, “Tell me about York.”

He tilted his head to the side, raising a brow, clearly pleased she had asked.  This put them both at ease; Sherlock doing his best to relate the pertinent facts, without too much showing off; Tessa starting to relax a bit as she listened to him, knowing he enjoyed an audience—even of only one—as much as she did.  She was trying very hard to concentrate fully on the details he was relaying, but her mind kept going back to how the kiss had felt, and more importantly, when would he kiss her again.  She found as she watched him, the urge to move closer, to take his hand, to brush her lips against his cheek, was growing stronger. She wondered if there was any part of him considering the same options, and if so, who might be the first to break.

"…and then I," he paused, looking at her curiously, "You’re smiling, why are you smiling so?"  Apparently her mask had fallen and what she was ruminating upon now showed on her face.  "Your brilliance, of course; what else could it be?" she quickly replied.

Sherlock looked flattered at first, then a bit skeptical at her answer, but that did not stop him recounting his tale.  As he finished the story, he noticed Tessa’s bout of ungainliness seemed to have passed, replaced with the insouciance which more properly suited her.  He couldn’t help but smile at how pretty such confidence made her.  He had definitely missed _that_  while he was in York. 

"So all’s well that ends well,” Tessa observed wryly.  "Are all your cases so complicated?”  She laid a hand lightly on his forearm as she asked, which drew his attention away from her face to the place she had touched him.  He became very conscious of how close she was sitting, the subtle notes of her perfume teasing him to move closer still.  It was a new and exhilarating feeling to him.  He found he’d missed the question entirely, but was loathe to admit it.  Sherlock nodded his head, hoping it would be enough of a vague response to satisfy her query.

He cleared his throat, seeking to change the subject.  Tessa was smiling at him now, clearly feeling the momentum was now in her favor.  He felt rather warm of a sudden, certain the cause was Tessa’s proximity.  ”Excuse me,” he said, and rose to remove his jacket, laying it on the arm of the sofa, buying a few seconds grace from the pressure—albeit delightful—that seemed to be mounting. Sherlock had imagined that once he had kissed her (that was the plan he came through the door with, thinking that in itself would be sufficient) that he would be in control of the situation, but her quick recovery had now set him off kilter. He wondered how long he might stall for time until he could figure his next move. 

“Now where were we?” he mused, trying not to sound as uncertain as he felt.  The mischievous glint in Tessa’s eyes gave answer as she moved in closer.  She pressed her lips lightly against his temple.  "No, not there,” she said softly, moving to kiss his ear, nipping gently at the lobe.  He breathed in sharply in surprise.  "Not there either,” she whispered, moving down and slowly kissing his neck again and again, her lips so tender, her breath so warm, upon his skin.  Her hair tickled deliciously where it brushed against him, and he felt as though he were sinking into the sofa as he relaxed into her kisses. 

Sherlock tried to pay attention to each new sensation in turn, a last ditch effort to maintain at least part of his brain in the rational.  Yet they came now so fast upon the previous that he could only respond to them as a whole, and that response was eventually a surrender of sorts.  Tessa’s softness, coupled with her obvious experience, left him at disadvantage to any other outcome.  Abandoning reluctance, he gave in to her insistent ministrations, until so very moved, he buried his hands in her hair to finally bring her mouth back to his.  He felt her smile as she yielded to him.

Thus passed the afternoon, and Sherlock’s education in the Art of Romance had truly commenced.

Eventually though, time enough passed that it was the hour for Tessa to leave for the theatre.  She pulled back from Sherlock very reluctantly, and it was clear she was as affected by the pleasant way they had spent the afternoon as he was.  Sherlock remained seated as she got up to duck into the bathroom and compose herself.  He raised a hand to take his pulse, willing it to slow now to a more normal pace. 

There was silence for a few minutes, and Sherlock felt he was finally, fully, collected. “Good lord, I look a mess!” he heard Tessa exclaim, a note of shock in her voice, “Thank god for stage make-up.”  She walked back into the small living room, still brushing the ends of her hair.

Sherlock rose as she entered the room, that familiar half smile now on his face, hands clasped behind him as his usual self-assurance returned.  Without skipping a beat, he told her, “On the contrary, I’ve  _never_  seen you look prettier.”  And it was the truth as far as he was concerned.  The flush of her skin and her kiss-swollen lips were simply lovely, and the knowledge that he was the author of them filled him with a happy satisfaction that was another new experience for him.

Tessa retorted swiftly, “You would say that; you’re the one responsible for my….disarray!” If her tone was meant to be indignant, she looked too pleased to be truly upset.  

Oh, but how could he let that comment pass?  "In fact, you look  _quite_  beguiling at the moment….” he trailed off, enjoying how the flattery he presented brought a sweet smile to her face. He slipped his jacket back on, straightening his collar and buttoning the top button.

"It’s a very good thing I’m not Viola tonight, and just a swing, thank you very much.  I’d be missing my cues, forgetting lines, and looking at me like you are now—saying such charming things—will only confuse me more.”  She gave him such a pout, that he had to stifle a laugh before he responded "Really--and who was doing the distracting while I was in York? I think this about evens the score, don’t you?"

Tessa’s eyes widened and she laughed softly.  ”I suppose I deserved that then.”  She stepped closer, to stand before him.  ”But what do I get if I behave like a prim and proper lady?”  She rested her hands on the lapels of his jacket, daring him to answer.

"I’d rather you didn’t.  I find you much more interesting when you're being impertinent," Sherlock let that thought linger between them a moment, then added "time and place being appropriate, of course."

"Of course," she echoed, "although you know, I could very well pick times and places you least expect."  Tessa had moved even closer now, her mouth a half-open invitation; she was challenging him to kiss her, and he found he was more than up to the task.  This was a learning curve he was mastering with speed  _and_ dexterity, as he was certain Tessa would attest to.

"But darling,” she murmured breathlessly, in the wake of his thorough demonstration, "the theatre now.  And perhaps a bite to eat beforehand."

Sherlock nodded, tracing his thumb across her lower lip, as though reluctant to abandon its charms so soon; Tessa gave a little shiver at that, and sighed contentedly.  He turned and took her jacket from its hook near the door, placing it around her shoulders, then offered her his arm.  She accepted it gladly, and they left her little flat, where—to her joy—a fine beginning had at last been made.  

 


End file.
